


The Hanging Tree

by onequartercanadian



Category: White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Angst, As an American my country is a complete flaming shitshow right now, Corruption, Discrimination, Gen, Government Corruption, Government Cover Ups, Heavy Angst, Heavy Discrimination, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Past Sexual Abuse, So people fighting for government reforms and achieving it sounded like a good idea, Social Change, Suicide Attempt, Trust Issues, Undercover Work, however no sex, i play with us history as well, i should be working on my other shit but instead i'm working on this shit, i wrote this when i was really sleepy, political change, questionable morality, take what you can get i guess??, the more i thought about this the more i realized something, there's more world building than i normally do, this is just a coping mechanism for me than actually telling a story, vive le revolution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-30
Updated: 2017-07-30
Packaged: 2018-12-09 04:30:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11661651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onequartercanadian/pseuds/onequartercanadian
Summary: Ever since the end of the American Civil War criminals have been used as slaves. The government and the private companies have ensured that slavery stayed legal for profit reasons and covered up and silenced the unjust treatment of slaves.FBI Agent Peter Burke was brought up with the society accepted views of slavery. Although his views start to change and he starts to doubt the system when a sudden emergency happens with his slave, Neal and he learns about the injustices they face and that the government has covered it up. He ends up checking out and working with the anti-slavery group and is surprised about who their leader is.Edit: I wrote this one night when I was angry and drunk and needed to get my feelings out.





	The Hanging Tree

**Author's Note:**

> Title inspired by; Hanging Tree cover; Peter Hollens  
> ...So I vaguely know where it's going. I'm not completely sure about this and I'm curious if this is even a good idea. I'm experimenting. Let me know if you want me to continue.  
> Edit: I actually don't know where this is going or if I'll continue. Read the tags.

After the American Civil War, the southern rich and powerful that could no longer own slaves still wanted them. The richest and most powerful businessmen and plantation owners convinced Congress that the punishment to non violent crimes should be enslavement. Congress asked them what the punishment for violent crimes would be, they responded with the death penalty. Congress soon agreed and the bill was passed quicker than it should have been.

Prisons were shortly turned to slave holding and training centers. Prisoners were transferred to these underdeveloped and underfunded facilities then sold to the rich and/or powerful. Like the former slaves, the worked in the fields and other hard labor jobs, in the home doing domestic work (They were the luckiest) and the young and attractive were used for sex. (They were the unluckiest)

It was believed that because they were criminals they had to be broken into slavery to understand their new place in society...or lack thereof. Common breaking in methods were rape to establish dominance and increase the feeling of helplessness and vulnerability, along with an old fashioned beating into submission. It was said that you had to have complete dominance over your slave or else your were a bad owner which was frowned upon by society. A good owner was not one that treated their slave well, but had complete control over them...by _any_ means necessary. This series of toxic beliefs infiltrated society, was reinforced by the government and stayed for generations. Some owners were abusive because they just were. Although most believed that’s how they were _supposed_ to act. They conformed to the standards set before them.

The budding private sector didn’t take too long to get in on the action offering products like “slave accessories” such as collars and “training manuals” especially on “training defiant” slaves.  Over time the industry grew and thrived and ended up buying out the training centers thus privatizing the system and making it into a business that was purely for profit. By the twenty-first century it was a multibillion dollar industry with overwhelming lobbying power in Washington DC. The main lobbying agency being the National Enslavement Association (NEA).

Everyone believed that criminals were lower class citizens, below human, so they were different from them. They believed since they did something illegal they deserved punishment and slavery or death were the punishments of the country. By the time the twenty-first century rolled around these views on slavery were commonplace and reinforced by the government and the private sector. People didn’t think much about these views, they just figured that’s just how things were and have always been. If you committed a nonviolent crime you became a slave.

Slaves were normally for the rich and businesses, but people who couldn’t afford them still wanted them. So a ring of underground illegal sales started by abducting free people along with slaves.

Ever since African Americans got their freedom they protested that criminals were being treated just as badly or worse than they were. They fought for their equality to whites and for the abolition of slavery entirely. Since they were the minority, they were never listened to. For criminals that did not have life sentences, they joined the revolution as soon as they were out...assuming they lived to see the day.

Although since they were since as less than human they were not listened to either. Every so often some white people would join the revolution, but that only lasted so long. Every time the rebellion group, The Anti-Slavery Coalition, gained traction they soon lost it. Because the government tried whenever possible to silence, discredit, or even kill them when they gained any traction.  Since the National Enslavement Association lobby was obscenely rich and powerful the government helped them make everyone believe that it was justified because they’re criminals and got rid of any opposition. The government benefitted greatly from the money and free labor. Not only did the government fully believe in slavery, but it was too lucrative an industry to let go.

Because capitalism is a real bitch.

When Congress was asked about their slavery program they bragged about their “low” recidivism rates, or the rate that criminals re-offend. They were only low due to how lethal the sentences were. The abuse they normally suffered at the hands of their masters was so painful that if a convict’s sentence was at least two years their suicide rate was 40% and their rate of dying by external means (murder by owner, overworking, untreated disease, etc.) was 60%. If their sentence was five years or more their suicide rate jumped to 80% and their rate of death by external means was 90%. There was no such thing as parole or any kind of early release. You either served your whole sentence or you died doing it. The few that survived had a lifetime of psychological pain and recovery along with having nothing to build a new life on and no way to build a new life. Almost all joined the resistance.

The government gave almost every non violent criminal a life sentence. A one strike your out system.

Congress never talked about those numbers. In fact, they flat out denied them and some even called the statistics “fake news”.

Peter Burke was raised with the society accepted traditional views of slavery. That slaves needed to be broken in and treated in a traditional manner. Although he didn’t _necessarily_ believe that criminals were less than human. He more believed that they deserved whatever happened to them. He was a lawful man who believed in the system.

...Until one day his attitude started to change.

Peter spent years trying to catch the incredibly intelligent yet elusive conman, Neal Caffrey. Peter eventually caught him and Neal was found guilty of numerous forgeries. He was sentenced to 10 years to life.

Peter was always interested in Neal. Some may say too interested. He liked Neal and was almost obsessed with catching him. So as soon as Neal was on the market for sale Peter arranged a private buy through pulling some strings he had as an FBI agent. The buy was a little shady, a Fed buying someone they caught, but not completely illegal.

He, along with his lovely wife Elizabeth, treated Neal as a regular slave. They use traditional breaking in methods when they got him. It took them much longer to break him in than a regular felon due to how defiant he was.

Although they eventually broke him in.

Because of his attractive looks and his athletic build they used him for dominating sex more than housework.

* * *

 

It was coming on three years since Neal was convicted and bought by the Burkes. It felt like a goddamn eternity to him. Even though they good took care of him, Neal was forced to sexually serve his Masters everyday since they brought him in. After yet another night of serving his Masters he was left restrained on the double bed. The room was fully equipped for Peter and Elizabeth’s sexual desires. Neal was lying naked on the bed with four point restraints, arms at his sides.

He noticed if he could inch up a little bit, just a few inches, his head would be perched on the wooden bedframe. He wanted to try something that he had been thinking of for a while now. Something he figured was inevitable.

He didn’t know if it would work but he tried.

He started to bang this head against the dark wooden headboard. He figured he’d die by bleeding out or by an internal brain bleed. He kept ramming his head against the headboard.

Time. And time. And time again. The more it hurt the more he did it.

Until he didn’t have any strength left. He knew it was only a matter of time. He smiled as he drifted from consciousness.

When Peter and Elizabeth went to bed Peter went to check on Neal and turn off the lights in his room. He peered into the room and noticed Neal’s head lolled to the side. He cautiously walked to Neal’s side, “Neal?” He cautiously asked

As he got closer to the bed he saw blood on the white pillow. His heart rate and breathing sped up as his concern grew. He got to the bedside and leaned down and grew even more alarmed when he saw blood all over the pillow and headboard. He tried to shake Neal awake, “NEAL! NEAL!” He took Neal’s pulse to find it was faint. As he shook Neal he saw the bloody wound on the middle of Neal’s skull. Peter’s panicked yelling caused Elizabeth in her light colored satin robe to come in alarmed and confused, “What’s wrong?”

Peter looked at her in shock, “Neal tried to bash his skull in!”

Elizabeth reacted in shock and said without even thinking, “I’ll call 911.”

When EMS got there Elizabeth directed them to the bedroom. As soon as they saw the collar around Neal’s neck they stopped at the door to the room.

“What are you doing?” Elizabeth asked

The EMS man said matter-of-factly...and to be honest, a little disgusted and condescending, “Ma'am, we don’t service slaves. I thought as owners you knew that.”

“Why not?”

“Because since they aren’t technically considered people they don’t have access to emergency services. Plus, there’s only two doctors in the city who will even _see_ slaves and they aren’t in now.”

“So what! You’re not going to help him! He obviously needs a doctor!” Peter yelled and pointed to an unconscious Neal.

“We can bring him to the hospital...for a price.”

“We’re not cheap.” The other EMS man stated matter-of-factly

“Fine!” Peter snapped, “We’ll take him!” He turned his attention to his wife, “Help me get him up. Watch his head.” As Peter and Elizabeth unstrapped him from the bed and got him on his feet the two EMS men just watched. They wrapped the bed sheet around him.

As they tried to walk out the door the EMS men were in front of it. “Move!” Peter barked giving them a look of death. They moved quickly. One called out to them as they started down the stairs, “Slaves are disposable! Just get another one like everyone else does!”

They managed to get Neal out of their small house and into the backseat of Peter’s car.

“Check his heart rate!” Peter demanded as he started to drive. Elizabeth was sitting in the back with Neal. She pressed her fingers to his neck, “It’s there, but it’s getting weak.”

* * *

 

They dragged Neal into the ER with an arm over each of their shoulders. People took notice due to a slave being dragged in by two others. An unusual site for almost midnight on a weekend.

“He needs help!” Peter called out

No one acknowledged them and they went back to what they were doing. Peter knew people heard him, they were looking at him.

So he tapped a nearby doctor on the back, “He needs help.”

The doctor said with anger and condescension in her voice. She glared at the not so conscious Neal then at Peter, “We don’t treat _those things_ here. Take him to the training facility clinic tomorrow.”

Peter and Elizabeth looked at her like, _you’ve got to be fucking kidding me?_

“But he needs a doctor! Help him!” Elizabeth almost yelled

“No, I won’t. Now leave.” She walked away

Peter and Elizabeth were at a loss when Peter remembered a doctor there owed him a favor from a while back. He saved the guy’s life.

“I’ve got an idea.”

“What?”

“I know a guy who I think works here who owes me a favor.”

The older male’s name was Dr. Mitchell. He did work at the hospital and happened to be there that night. He came downstairs and saw the three sitting in the waiting area. Neal was still unconscious.

“Like I said, you owe me one. Help him.”

Mitchell threw his head back and sighed before looking back at Peter, “ _Fine_ . _Only_ because I owe you one.”

After failing to find an open exam room they set him on a gurney in the ER hallway. They constantly had to move out of the way for nurses, doctors, and patients running about on the busy Saturday night.

After a quick physical exam, “He’s going to need an MRI but probably won’t need surgery.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Peter asked

Mitchell looked at him, “Probably. It’s very hard to bash your head in. What material did he use?”

“Wooden headboard. He was lying down and probably just hit his head until he passed out.” Peter answered

“Yeah it’s very hard to actually kill yourself like that. Don’t know if he knew that, but this was intentional. People don’t end up like this accidentally. He _wanted_ to kill himself.” He brushed it off, “Common slave problem.” That caught Peter and Elizabeth’s attention. They didn’t know the statistics about slave suicide.  “You know this is going to be very expensive. Normal hospitals don’t even treat slaves.” They were normally taken to slave centers where a doctor was during normal business hours.

“Yeah we know that _now_.” Peter spat, “He’s a guy that needs a doctor. So do your damn job and help him.” Peter demanded

Mitchell retorted, “Not according to the law. He’s not.” He paused, “I’ll see what I can do about that MRI.” He vanished into the sea of nurses, doctors, and patients.

 

Mitchell managed to snag a MRI machine at the 3am graveyard slot. In the meantime he sewed up Neal’s laceration and put a wrap around his head. After the MRI they were outside the room with Neal still out on a gurney.

“I would recommend him staying a few days to see if there is any lasting brain damage but not only isn’t there any beds here but once again, the hospital doesn’t take slaves. Only slave centers do. Take him to the one tomorrow.”

“Can’t you work something out? Find _somewhere_ to put him for the night at least? It’s so late and he tried to kill himself.” Elizabeth almost pleaded, Peter nodded.

“I can come home with you guys and watch him for the night. That’s the best I can do. I already pissed people off by using the MRI on him, but it’s not like anyone else was using it.”

“We’ll take it.” Peter sighed

* * *

The next morning Neal woke up to a headache that felt like an elephant sat on his head. That reminded him of what he tried last night. It was fuzzy but he knew he must have done it and failed. He sighed and opened his eyes. His vision was blurry but he saw a man sitting at his bedside that he didn’t recognize. He noticed he was dressed in a t-shirt and sweats. He wasn’t last night. He also noticed that the feeling of the collar wasn’t there. They took it off prior to the MRI due to the small pieces of metal on it and that the MRI machine is basically a giant magnet.

“Hey there.” He said, Neal squinted at the man and flinched. “I’m Dr. Mitchell. You hit your head last night and Peter and Elizabeth got me to patch you up. They’re downstairs, I told them to get something to eat. They’ve been sitting over there all night.” He pointed to two chairs on the other side of the bed. Neal followed where he pointed then back at him. “I’ll get them.”

Neal sat up in the bed confused and touched the gauze wrapped around his head.

Peter and Elizabeth came up a few minutes later.

“Hey.” Peter greeted. He seemed uncomfortable but was trying to hide it. They sat down in the chairs opposite of Mitchell. Elizabeth had a small tray of eggs and toast with some juice. “Brought you some food in case you’re hungry. You also shouldn’t be taking meds on an empty stomach.” Mitchell had to call in several prescriptions under Peter’s name. It was very hard for a slave to get meds that weren’t over the counter.

Neal was surprised at the gestures. Even though they were normally pretty good to him, they made sure he knew his place. He was damn terrified that they were going to be pissed at him for his failed suicide last night. He’d heard stories of owner outbursts after slaves acting up like this. He took the tray of food and the pills. Elizabeth was a great cook, not as good as him and they all knew that, but still good.

“I need to get going. I have patients to get to.” Mitchell said and excused himself

 

Later Elizabeth went to the store to pick up a few things and left Peter to watch Neal and make sure he didn’t try to bash his head in again.

There was an uncomfortable silence between them. Peter finally broke it. He genuinely needed to know, “Why did you do it? Why did you try to kill yourself?”

Neal looked at him in shock. He was hoping he didn’t have to answer that question but he knew he had to.

He was luckily relieved of that when Peter’s phone rang. He looked at it and “It’s work. I’ll be right back. We _will_ continue this when I get back.” Neal nodded. Peter left the room and took the call in the hallway and closed the door to the bedroom. As soon as Peter did so Neal got up and crept into the attached small bathroom. He had another plan up his sleeve that he newly had access to and no supervision.

He went into the medicine cabinet and smiled when he saw his razor. It was a plain cheap one you get in bulk at drugstores. They didn’t have any safety guards around the blades. He looked hesitantly out the door to see that the bedroom door was still closed.

He took a deep breath and dug the blade into the end of his left wrist and dragged it across his wrist. He smiled as the blood seeped out. He switched hands and did the same to his right wrist.

He threw his head back breathed a sigh of relief. He knew it was only a matter of time. He took turns squeezing his wrists so he would bleed out faster.

When Peter hung up the phone he walked back into the bedroom. He was confused, “Neal?” He figured he went to the bathroom. He walked in and saw Neal sitting on the floor against the shower door, blood covering his arms and clothes. It was starting to trickle to the floor. The bloody razor was lying on the ground next to him.

Peter’s jaw dropped in shock. He rushed to Neal. “NEAL! What the fuck did you do?!” He examined Neal’s wrists to see the long cuts pulsing with blood. “What did you do?”

Neal’s voice was faint and shaking, “I-I know the sy-sytem after te-ten I’d g-get life b-but I wa-wanted to see how long I-I cou-could last. Longer than I tho-thought.” Peter wrapped white hand towels around Neal’s wrists which quickly turned red and soaked with blood. “J-just let me die.” Peter looked at him with grave concern, “Yo-you know the s-st-stats. I was pr-probably going to die an-anyway.  It was in-inevitable.”

Peter called Elizabeth and got Dr. Mitchell back to the house. He knew that if he took Neal to get help at the clinic at the slave center and if (more like when due to his head wounds) they found out that not only could Neal not fulfill his duties as a slave but that this was his second attempt in 24 hours. They would take Neal into their custody, deem Neal as a “deficient” slave, deem Peter and Elizabeth as “unfit” owners, and “terminate” Neal via lethal injection.

Mitchell and Elizabeth got there shortly later. Mitchell had reluctantly taken some o-negative blood from the hospital along with more bandages and a suture kit. He patched Neal up despite his weak protests.

After they put him back to bed and he was unconscious but still breathing, Peter asked Mitchell, “You mentioned before that this was common?”

Mitchell responded matter-of-factly without hesitation, “Yes. Yes it is.” He looked at his watch and said, “I have to go. Good luck with him. You care more about your slave than most. Most would have called it a loss by now.”

After he left the room Peter and Elizabeth looked at each other confused.

Later that night Neal was still asleep, Peter was watching him to make sure he didn’t do anything. He was curious so he grabbed his laptop and started looking into the stats that Neal referred to earlier. He first couldn’t find anything on the “Correction Program” online and what he did find was a glowing reccomendation. Due to what Mitchell said he looked on other sources. He first looked on a British search engine and he started to find articles. His jaw dropped when he read them. Elizabeth came in with dinner. “He still asleep?”

“Yeah.”

Elizabeth gave him a plate of food and sat down next to Peter with a plate for herself. “I have some for him downstairs, I figured he was still asleep.”

“Have you ever heard of slave death statistics?” He asked her looking up from his laptop

“No, why?” She asked as she ate

“I hadn’t either until Neal referenced them when I found him in the bathroom.” He remembered earlier that day, “There was so much blood, El. How could someone be _that_ desperate to die?”

“I don’t know.” Elizabeth was at a loss for words.

“It says on the London Journal that if someone’s sentence is five years or more their suicide rate is 85% and their rate of death by external means was 90%. Although these are approximates since not all deaths are reported.”

“Oh god.”

“The thing is, El...I couldn’t find this on any American site or even any US search engine. I wanted information so I’m currently using a British search engine.”

“No wonder we haven’t heard about this. Have you tried your Bureau resources?”

“I don’t think I should be connected to this research right now. El, the government is trying to hide this.” Peter looked at her in shock.

With a little more digging on the foreign search engine he found the Anti-Slavery Coalition’s website and started reading it, with Elizabeth reading over his shoulder. Their mission was to end slavery and introduce a prison system for criminals like every other country on the planet had. He read stories of former slaves and of those who did not make it. He was shocked that he had never even heard of this group before. He figured there had to be a reason for that. He saw they were headquartered in New York City.

* * *

 

Peter walked up to a less than impressive little building in the city where the Anti-Slavery Coalition was headquartered. He first thought that he was at the wrong place because there was no sign on the building. He wanted to quietly investigate the group. He wondered what the government was trying to hide, why he hadn’t heard of them before and why he couldn’t find any trace of them on any US search. There was also a  part of him that started to feel guilty about having Neal as a slave.

He was starting to doubt the system that he spent his whole life believing in and working for.

He walked into the building where he saw a small sign on the wall. He wondered why it wasn’t outside where people could see it. He then saw a little bell on a table. He dinged the bell and waited. A young black guy came through the back double doors and asked with a friendly tone, “Hey, what can I do for you?”

“I saw your site online, wanted to know more and I guess help.”

The kid first was a little confused, it was very hard to find their site, but he just let it go and smiled, “That’s great. Come with me.” He gestured for Peter to follow him into the back.

“I first thought I was in the wrong place. I didn’t see any signage. Why is that?”

The boy was walking in front of him, he looked behind to him and commented, “The government is a bunch of assholes.”

They walked through the double doors to see a large room full of desks and people, a larger office with closed blinds towards the back of the room and a conference room on the right. The boy was telling him about their mission and how they help the community and how Peter could help. A smaller, older, bald, bespeckled man walked towards them in suspicion.

“Who’s this?”

“Hey, Mozzie. This is a new guy. He wants to help.”

Peter tried not to react, because he remembered from chasing Neal that he had a friend named Mozzie.

That name was too odd to be a coincidence.

“What’s your name, new guy?” He asked

Peter didn’t know if Mozzie knew about him, but it didn’t seem like he recognized Peter. He went on the side of caution anyway, “Peter Billings.” He offered a handshake.

He returned the gesture, “Mozzie, leader of the Coalition. Nice to meet you.”

 


End file.
